Emotionless
by RishiGenki
Summary: He had promised himself he would not get emotional over this. Especially in front of the emotionless man that was in front of him. He knew he could never be the older brother he wanted to be. Drabble-oneshot.


**"Emotionless"**

**A Hetalia Fanfiction**

**By RishiandSquee**

**(disclaimer: Don't own. Never will.)**

**-ooo-**

England took a deep breath and let it out. Realizing that he was still anxious, England took another breath, but held it this time, slowly exhaling as he counted to fifteen.

No good. He was still nervous.

The former British empire was standing outside a foreign house. He knew this, and he knew he had to do this, and yet his heart was pounding in his chest, not allowing him to be the proper gentleman that he usually was able to play seamlessly.

England bit down on his lip, hard, as he knocked on the door. He prayed to any number of Gods that no one was home.

The door opened, and a platinum blond head with piercing, icy blue eyes poked out. England took in another sharp breath and nodded.

"B-Berwald. It's nice to see you."

Sweeden blinked at England, his face set in a stone frown. "Arth'r."

England began to sweat. What was he doing here? Why had he come here in the first place? This had been a bad idea from the start. Who had talked him into coming? Oh, that's right, it was France. Typical bastard.

"Y-yes, hello. How are you?" England stuttered.

The taller blond opened the door all the way, nodding for England to come in, and the Brit realized that he wasn't going to get an answer to his question. England squirmed, rubbing the back of his neck, cringing as he felt the sweat trickling down. He quickly swiped the now damp hand on the back of his pants as he followed Sweeden inside, trying to listen as Sweeden mumbled.

"Y'don' c'me 'round h're oft'n, Arth'r. Wha' brin's y'here?"

"A-ah. I was...in the neighborhood." England tried to scowl, anything other then the no doubt foolish, cowardly look on his face. He hadn't interacted with Sweeden in years, yet he still feared this man. The icy stoicness, the emotionless face...it frightened England.

Especially since this was the man who his brother had sold himself to.

"I see." Sweeden paused, then nodded towards his left. "G't c'mft'rable. I'll g't us s'me coffee."

It was a living room. Or, perhaps an office. Beside the couch and television, and other things one would expect in a living room, was a desk. It was neat and tidy, with small stacks of paper resting on it with care. England walked into the room carefully, as if the place was booby trapped.

It looked like a decent place to live. Of course, England never trusted things at face-value. No, there must be something he could pick apart, something that he could fuss over, something he could try to correct and feel less guilty about his current situation.

He scanned the room again, but it was perfect. The outlets were covered with those baby-proof blockers, and it was spotless-no indication of being snacked in, or messed up. England cringed again as he realized that his drawing quarters was nothing in comparison to this room.

"Arth'r."

England shot up, his back stiff. He looked over to where Sweeden stood, two cups in hand-one a coffee mug, and one, England realized, was a tea cup. The platnium blond set down the teacup on the table, making sure that there was a coaster under it, and indicated England to sit, keeping the coffee mug in his own hands. The Brit settled down on the couch and put the cup to his lids. Ah, it was green tea. Not his favorite, but it was better then nothing.

"S-so, Berwald, how are you today?" England tried again, swallowing down the tea quickly, trying to ignore how hot and bland it was. He continued to remind himself that he was a guest, and he should treat Sweeden with respect-not at all like he treated those two irritating twits he usually wound up visiting. He rested the cup on the coaster and leaned back into the couch.

The Sweede sat across from England, in an armchair. He leaned back, resting his hands in his lap. His eyes did not leave England's green ones, making the Brit increasingly uncomftorable. "M'good." he muttered. "Y'cam' t'talk 'bout Peter?"

England spluttered, covering his hand with his mouth so he did not appear to be rude. "A-ah, um, no I-I was just in the neighborhood." he said, straightening up. "But now that you mention the brat, how is he doing? Is he giving you any trouble?"

Sweeden's eyes narrowed. "H's a goo' boy. H' don' cause 'ny trouble."

"I see. And is he eating right? I know he likes chocolate bananas, but he can't eat those all the time." England straightened his tie, trying to avoid Sweeden's never-blinking eyes. "It's unhealthy, and I don't want him becoming fat and lethargic."

"No. H' eats wh'tev'r m'wife cooks. H' lik's meat." Sweeden responded simply.

Good. England let out a sigh in relief, but quickly tried to cover it with a cough. "Ah, that's good. Meat is good for a growing child. Does he like to play? He's getting exersice, isn't he?" he asked, his voice growing increasingly excited, and he knew his face must have been etched with worry. He scowled, trying to cover his increasingly more expressionate face from the other, seemingly emotionless man. "Is there anything you need to scold him for? He doesn't watch too much of the telly, does he? Does he listen to you? Because sometimes you need to scold him in order for him to understand. I remember, one time-"

"Arth'r."

England flinched, sitting stiffer then a board. "Yes, Be-Berwald?"

There was a ghost of an emotion playing Sweeden's face, but England, for the life of him, could not tell what it was, because it was gone in an instant. "Y'don' need t' be so nerv's. H's doin' fine. Wishes y'came t'vis't 'im more oft'n, thou'h."

The Brit continued to tug at his collar, trying hard not to appear as nervous as he felt. "Nervous? No, I'm not nervous in the slightest. Really, Berwald. I just want to make sure that brat isn't causing you too much trouble." he said, deliberatly avoiding the topic of visiting the child.

Sweeden's eyes narrowed, spiking fear into England. "I d'n't like liars, Arth'r."

"A-ah. I can see that." England looked down at his lap shamefully, balling his hands into fists. "I-I'm sorry, Berwald. I'll be honest." He looked up again, brows scrunched and etched in fear, but this time not at Sweeden. "Is he...alright? Is the bra-is Peter doing well? He isn't-"

"H's fine, Arth'r. Why d'n't y'ask 'im y'rself?"

That was it. That was the question he didn't want to answer-neither to Sweeden nor to himself. England swallowed, looking back down.

"I-I ruined his life. I can't see him. I-I forced him into a corner, I forced him to-to sell himself to you in a last desperate attempt for affection. I ignored him, and berated him, and I never-how would it look if I tried to see him now? If I admitted that I wanted to be part of his life, after all I've put him through?" England shut his eyes in a vain attempt to bait off the tears that were quickly filling his eyes. "I hurt him, Berwarld. I have...no right to see him."

"Y'r his br'ther, Arth'r." Sweeden replied, not missing a beat. "Y'hav' ev'ry right."

"No!" England exclaimed, looking up the the Sweede, horror in his eyes. "I don't even deserve to be called his brother! I'm a horrid older brother, and I always have been-I have no right to be calling anyone my brother at this point, least of all the child I abandoned without a second thought...!" He pulled his head down into his hands, shaking. "I could never...!" he choked back a sob as best he could.

No, he promised himself he would not get emotional over this.

Especially in front of the seemingly emotionless man that was in front of him.

Sweeden watched England's shoulders shake for a few moments before easing up, out of his armchair. His face had not changed, not a twinge of emotion had become noticeable. England looked up, frightened, as the Sweede began to walk over to England, each step more terrifying then the last. He began to splutter. "I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean-"

The platnium blond grabbed England's shoulder and forefully pulled him foward into a very strong hug. He squeezed the Brit tightly, and England felt somewhat comforted in his surprise.

"B-Berwald-?"

"Y'b'n hurt'n."

It was a statement, not a question.

England did not move. "Y-yes." he admitted quietly. "I-I have."

"Y'r'lly love 'im, don'ya?"

"...yes."

Sweeden pulled away from England, quietly taking England's chin in his hands and tilting it upward.

The Sweede's face had not changed. A frown was still present on his face, and his eyes were still icy and cold...terrifying.

Yet, they were not emotionless. England could catch the faint glimpse of affection in the crystal-pooled eyes.

It was somehow comforting.

Sweeden's rough hands began to wipe England's cheeks, in a vain attempt to stop the tears that England hadn't realized were flowing freely from his emerald eyes. Sweeden's brow furrowed, and he traced England's face with cold, yet soft fingers.

"Y'love 'im. So there's n'thin' stoppin' y'bu' y'rself."

"...y-yes."

"Y'shou' c'me f'r dinn'r s'metime. M'wife'll b'happy t'cook f'r a g'est."

"Y-yes."

Sweeden's lips twitched upward, and England stared in bewilderment at the soft, precious smile.

"Y'r h's broth'r, af'er all. Y'r par'o th' family."

~end


End file.
